


Teach me to run, keep me from flying

by sallyisheretocry_mama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Cas is sweet but dumb, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Slow Build, as usual, charlie and sam are the same age, charlie is scheming but a good friend, football is football, i don't get how america works, marathon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyisheretocry_mama/pseuds/sallyisheretocry_mama
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal Bill Nye night, but Sammy had to pull out those puppy eyes and literally ask for a puppy. Well, it gets Dean a lovely session with the school's track star Castiel Malak, so it isn't the worst deal.But god if he has to look at his crush literally drenched in sweat every day, well, is he supposed to not slowly die inside?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. A small hope

**Author's Note:**

> Some things are different so imma list them.  
> Dean: 17, a junior  
> Sam: 13, 7th grade  
> Castiel: 18, a senior.  
> Characters and tags will change cause, as usual, I have no idea where this is going. We'll get to the dog, I promise.  
> All the characters are my perception of what they'd be like in high school without the monsters and demons aspect, I tried to keep them as close to the OG as possible.  
> Yes, cas' name is different, BUT, it's pertinent to the story... kinda. Just let me be dramatic.

“A puppy?” Dean questioned, shifting his head towards sam without taking his eyes off the tv, for good reasons though, it’s bill nye dammit. Sam was squeezed into the corner of his bed, legs drawn up with his back against the wall. “Well, yeah. It’s not that weird, they’re cute okay,” he mumbled, fiddling with a piece of paper he found stuck between the wall and the bed frame, “We have way too much garbage here, Dean.”

At that Dean finally looked back at Sam, “Let’s...just go back to the other topic,” he said, crawling over to grab the piece of paper from his hand and toss it back between the wedge. He ignores the deadpan expression on Sam’s face, settling down cross-legged in front of him. 

“So, why the sudden interest?” Dean asked.

“Well, it’s… ” his hands now picked at the bedsheets, “It’s nothing particular, everyone has pets,” he finally finished. He was looking at Dean with a desperate, ‘please don’t question me or I might cry’ sort of look and frankly, Dean Winchester is weak with everything Sam related. The boy’s got killer puppy dog eyes, you can’t blame him for caving. 

But, there was still the question of reality.

Dean sighed, knowing what he has to say and knowing it’s the exact response Sam is expecting. Unlike Dean, Sam hasn’t given up the hope of being a kid, although Dean's only got himself to blame. Or thank, depending on how you look at it.

Living under John Winchester’s roof for as long as Dean has, he’s learned to not ask for things. If he can’t use it till he’s 30 or pay for it himself, he’s not getting it. But Sam, he doesn’t go to John when he wants something. He doesn’t go to his father if he’s hurt, or scared, or for anything else a child could want from his dad. No, he goes to Dean, always to his big brother. Because, difficult as it may be, if that’s what it takes to give his little brother some semblance of normalcy, he’d happily be his dad. 

So Sam hasn’t given up on asking, on taking, ruining something completely and smiling innocently. More accurately, Dean hasn’t given up on letting Sam be a child for longer than he got to be.

“Sammy, I… ” Dean broke off with a strained sigh, struggling with a reply, “It’s fine, I was just thinking because it’s my birthday soon and… anyway, nevermind,” Sam said, dejected.

Dean scoffed, bringing Sam down in a headlock, he rubbed his fist against his head, hard. “Oh, this is new, you’re getting sneaky, you little shit!” they’re both giggling and falling over each other by the end. Out of breath and happily distracted from an inevitable disappointment.

“So… ” Sam’s running circles on the bed with his fingers, voice still a little hopeful. Dean laughs without humour, “Fine, I’ll ask,” he finally said, turning to face Sam lying similarly, “But you know, no promises and all that.”

  


“Yeah, I know,” said Sam.


	2. A tentative beginning

It’s almost 2 am by the time their front door is wrenched open and slammed shut, uncaringly loud steps make their way towards the kitchen. More doors are slammed and drawers rattling with force and with each noise Dean flinches and his resolve crumbles. He’s sitting at the stairs, palms clenched around the spindles of the railing, ducking to peer into the kitchen only to see barely the first few tiles.

He continues to wait long after the racket has died down, save for the occasional light clunk of glass being set down. At the scrape of a chair, he finally stood up at his stop, knowing it won’t be long till John goes up to crash in his room, which means another day of waiting. And Dean’s sure by then he’d have completely talked himself out of taking the risk, so it’s now or never. Or tomorrow if Sam tried the puppy eyes again.

He creeps down the stairs, coming up to the kitchen entrance just as John’s throwing away his beer bottle. “Why aren’t you in bed, dean?” he asked with an even tone, back still facing Dean as he moved towards the sink to wash his hands.

“Um, I was… I wanted to ask you something,” feeling unprepared, he went for the cliche. He was clutching the edge of the table with one hand, the other picking at the skin of his nape while his feet shifted against the floor, the nervous energy coursing through him making it impossible to stand still.

That is until John turned around and walked towards him, instantly all actions stilled and Dean’s hands fell by his side. John walked past him before Dean could get another word out, “It’s late, go to bed,” he was already out and upon the first step.

“I know, I will. But wait,” he spoke a bit too loud, “Sorry, it’s just… it’s about Sam’s birthday,” he finished, words rushed together. John looked at him wearily, the seconds ticked by silently before John sighed and moved past Dean again to go resume his position at the kitchen table.

“I’m giving you fifteen minutes, seriously, I’m about to pass out,” John said, the exhaustion clear in his voice. Dean stood beside the table awkwardly for a moment before gingerly pulling back the opposite chair, not bothering to move it any closer after sitting down.

“I know it may be difficult and I’m willing to work for it, and Sam and I will take care of everything and we’ll do all the work and everythi-”

“The point, Dean!” John cut him off, louder and more impatient, the annoyance clear on his face and certainly not encouraging to Dean. Dean stumbled over his words, doing the exact opposite of “getting to the point”.

“Sam wants a dog,” he ended up blurting out, cringing at how he probably fucked up the little chance he had in getting through this with at least a ‘We’ll see’. “I mean, it’s his birthday soon anyway, so, I thought it could be a birthday gift, you know,” he trailed off, contemplating whether crawling under the table would be weirder than slithering up the stairs.

“Dean,” John sighed, fingers massaging at the bridge of his nose, “Why would you encourage him on this, and don’t bullshit me! You know what I’m gonna say and you know what you should’ve said.”

“I know but… I’m sorry but he really wants it. And he’s not asking for anything else, think about it at least, please.”

“You kids,” John left the table, irritated and tired, not a good combination, “It isn’t a toy, it’s a life and you think you can be responsible for it. It’s not just buying there are so many costs that come with it, medical, food. Do you really think more bills is what we need right now,” he stopped his pacing to face Dean, now more angry than mildly annoyed, this is going great, thought Dean.

“And you think a 12-year-old can take care of a dog?” he questioned, glaring down at Dean who’s still seated at the chair, eyes cast down at his hands, “He’s 13,” he muttered.

“What?”

Okay, no, bad idea, Dean thought, “Nothing. But it won’t just be him, I’d do the work too and Sammy’s home most of the time so…”

“Dean, It’s not some toy you can play with and forget about when you’re bored of it,” that’s rich coming from him, dean thinks, “You couldn’t commit to the fucking gym for more than a week, how am I supposed to buy this?”

“So if I commit, would you agree?” Dean asked hurriedly, the cogs in his head up and running, thinking of gym subscriptions, ew, and guys in tank tops… okay, not all ew.

John scoffed, throwing Dean off, “To what, the gym? And then what? You’re gonna join a bodybuilding competition at the end,” his voice was taunting, clear in its purpose to belittle and it was working fairly well.

Dean was looking down at the ground again, frustration seeped onto his expression, and that’s not what John needs to see right now. His mind was running a mile a minute, fingers scraping against the wooden chair just as imaginary ones were having their go at his head.

“You want, like proof, right?” the words left him slowly, as though they hadn’t fully formed yet, “at the end of it? You want proof, right?” he said with more conviction.

John looked at him, confused, and appropriately so since even dean wasn’t sure what he was getting at. It’s sort of a shoot first, question later kind of a moment.

“Dean, I’m not talking about some fucking certificate or anything, but yeah, essentially,” John raised his voice, almost challenging. “Proof!” he finished, mimicking Dean’s choice of words.

“Okay. Then I’ll bring proof.”

John just stared at him with exasperated disdain and let the silence stretch uncomfortably. Dean was resolutely quiet, but mostly because he was as unsure about this as John was done with it, he had no more explanation or specifics to offer, so he offered nothing.

John sighed in defeat, with more than a hint of indifference, “Fine, just… whatever,” he moved to walk past Dean again, well and truly done with the conversation. And as much as Dean would be more than happy to comply, he felt urged to ask, confirm whatever happened here, so he did, “uh, so is that a yes?”

“It’s a 'we’ll see'. Now go to sleep, Dean.”

And well, Dean knows a dismissal when it’s thrown at him, so he waits till he hears John’s footsteps recede up the stairs and into his room before moving to his own.

Sammy’s dead asleep when he gets there probably tried to stay up for Dean from the looks of his strewn aside blanket and legs dangling over the foot frame. Dean just stood over him for a while, letting the dread and slight elation wash over him, almost struggling to take in air, releasing more than his lungs seem to have to offer.

He might have just seriously fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any criticism or advice is more than welcome.   
> Also, I may not be showing any explicit abuse scenes but the tags will be updated as I go so we'll see.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The light bulb popped

“Charlie, I’m gonna fucking die and you’re laughing,” there’s a clear annoyance in Dean’s voice, not that that deters Charlie, “you’re so not invited to the funeral.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” her heartfelt apology is lost in her hysterical giggles.

“Oh, you sure fucking sound sorry,” Dean grumbled, half-heartedly trying to push Charlie off the bleachers.

"No, I am. I mean, I’m not but I’ll stop,” she’s got a wide smile stuck to her face and her body’s still shaking, but at least she’s trying to control herself. She takes a few more seconds before finally sitting up straight and shaking her head clear of mirth. 

She takes a deep breath before simply saying, “So,” and that’s more than enough to carry all her smugness, and it is certainly not lost on Dean.

“Okay, you’re clearly not gonna help so get outta here,” he didn’t exactly mean it, but it came out more so like he did. It’s not entirely Dean’s fault, he truly has no fucking idea what he’s gonna do. Proof? What kind of proof can you get for something like this.? 

A fucking P.E certificate? Is there such a thing? 

He’s curling in on himself, mentally and physically. With his hands wrapped around each other settling on the railing in front of them, his head pressed against them as he attempted to somehow escape his body. Like pushing hard enough might just do so.

“Okay okay, chill you depression sandwich, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” she wouldn’t say it out but she did feel bad, she may have had a hand in persuading Sam to ask Dean. It wasn’t entirely selfish in her mind, sure she really wanted to come around and play with the possible puppy, but Sam wanted it too. It’s all he would talk about. 

So yeah, she was a tiny, minuscule factor in these chain of events. If you think hard enough, her input doesn’t even matter. Yeah! She wasn’t even there.

Okay so, clearly there’s more guilt than she’d like to acknowledge.

“Okay!” she said resolutely, slapping Dean’s bowed back to further deliver the end of the moping session. That didn’t quite manage to pull Dean out of his internal pity party, his head stayed on the railing and his eyes stayed on the floor. 

With his mind racing, yet blank. Like a slideshow full of nonsense on fast forward.

It’s safe to say the ball coming right their way didn’t really catch their attention. It slammed on the railing, right under Dean’s head. He startled enough to jump up and back in his seat with a loud yelp. The force of the action drove his knee against the railing, hard. And on came another cry.

The pain drove up to his nerves and into every corner of his body. Oh, it was one of those hits. The sharpness of it drove the breath out of him and brought tears to his eyes, just clinging there. 

His hands were hovering over his knee, confused by what they could do to ease the pain. He was bending in half to clutch at his knee when he heard a shocked yell, “I’m so sorry!”

_ Yeah, shit load of good that’ll do now, buddy. _

He heard someone run up to them and grab onto the railing. Maybe he should start antagonising these fucking railings. Start a damn petition to get rid of them. 

**_A hazard to society and kneecaps._ ** _ It’s kind of catchy.  _

“Are you okay? Fuck, I’m sorry!” the guy was obviously panicked and Dean was obviously in pain, but he was also obviously gay and this voice was very fucking deep. 

And very… familiar. 

And now there’s a hand on his shoulder pushing him up, surprisingly gently.

“I didn’t hit you, right? Oh god, did I hit you?”

It’s Castiel fucking Malak. And Dean fucking Winchester really wants to die.

He’s just coming out of his stupor to realise Castiel’s still inches from his face, and all Dean managed to get out was a weak, “Huh?” 

“Oh my god, you gave him a concussion,” someone running up behind Castiel said, very unhelpfully. 

“Oh my god, I gave him a concussion!” Castiel repeated, now in a full-blown panic. He’s pushing Dean up with more resolution, touching his head, tilting his face up by the chin. Firm, but gentle.

And there is just soo much Dean can take.

His hands fly up to swat away the hands, and hopefully the attention, but the move isn’t as smooth as he’d hope and he really looks like he’s aggressively swatting flies now… great. “I’m fine, stop. I don’t have a… concussion.”

“You paused there, why did you pause? You do have a concussion, don’t you? I’m taking you to the nurse right now!” Castiel’s already turning to march Dean down to the clinic while Dean’s is still struggling to get a word in this conversation. 

He grabs the boy’s shirt right as he’s already lifted Dean onto his feet, “Jesus, dude. Stop, I’m fine!” he said way louder than he meant too. He ducks his head as Castiel turns to stare at him, wide-eyed and calculating. He’s looking him all over and Dean knows he’s just making sure he’s actually okay but god, he doesn't have to be so fucking pretty about it.

He’s unhanded eventually, and he just plops back down onto his seat, head still down, and rubs his knee.

“Are you sure?” this time it’s oh so gentle, there’s no piercing panic in his voice, just soft concern. 

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I didn’t even get hit, it was the fucking railing. I just hit my knee on it,” that seemed to placate the ever-growing crowd. Still, they don't disperse, as though waiting for some unspoken command. 

Fucking sports guys!

Eventually, Castiel spoke again. Unfortunately, the conviction was back in his voice, “Okay, that’s… good. But, I still think you should go to the clinic, like, for an ice pack at least,” Dean already had a vehemently negative answer but Charlie, to no surprise, had other ideas, “You should definitely go.”

Dean’s expression was no short of incredulous, and Charlie looked like a baby demon, but that’s not really a new interaction between them.

“I mean you wouldn’t wanna mess up your leg right now, would you? What with all the proof business… hmm? Consider this help.”

The speed at which her brain works mostly terrifies Dean, but right now, he just really wanted to hit it with something. Anything! 

“What?” Castiel looked between the two, understandably confused 

“Nothing!” Dean exclaimed just as Charlie began an undoubtedly twisted explanation, and he did not want to chance that. “Okay, clinic's good. I’ll go there.” He got up and ended the matter by starting towards the building. 

Almost immediately he was surprised by footsteps catching up to him, he turned to be greeted by Castiel’s wary but friendly face.

“I can get myself there dude,” although there was the right amount of disinterest in his voice, Dean didn’t slow his pace, which was quite slow already considering the light needles crawling up his left thigh with every step. It’s not that bad, honestly, but it isn’t fun either, and neither his fault for once so he's allowed to be a little dramatic about it.

“Yes, well. I’m not exactly proposing to be your walking stick, I’m just going with you. For… uh, moral support,” Castiel said with a nervous pitch to his voice, he’d slowed his pace to match Dean’s, and he was paying considerable attention to him now. He kept his eyes on his most of the way and his hand jumped out to hover at Dean’s side more than once when he winced. 

Dean hadn’t bothered putting up much of a resistance, he wasn’t so sure he’d be capable of it anyway. Castiel was being… kind of cute, which is really not a word he, or anyone for that matter, would associate with the stoic student beside him. And Dean was just weak and prone to bad decisions with even worse outcomes. 

So here he is, sitting on a paper towel covered bed with an ice pack held to his knee. Castiel still hadn’t left, and Dean didn’t know what to do. He was beyond the point of being able to enjoy his attention because it was way too concentrated now. 

With the school nurse in the adjacent room shut off by a brightly coloured plastic curtain, all he could think of was to avoid eye contact and wait for a miracle, like a sinkhole right under his feet or apt social skills. It wasn’t helpful that Castiel kept staring at him, seemingly content with the situation and lack of conversation. At least he wasn’t the only one missing some social cues.

Luckily, Castiel decided to end his suffering, “I am sorry, again. I’m not very good at football and I didn’t think “winging it”, as they say, could result in… this,” he sounded guilty enough to make Dean feel guilty . 

“It’s alright,” he couldn’t help but chuckle,  _ I mean the guy makes air quotes like an 80-year-old man.  _

“Why were you playing football anyway? I mean, you guys not just you, because you’re on the track team… right?” it really shouldn’t be this hard to talk to a guy, attractive or not. While Dean was rummaging in his head trying to make decent conversation, Castiel smiled softly, thinking at least he didn’t look like he wanted to run away anymore. 

“Well, the coach is on leave for a while, some family business, and the team was feeling… restless, I suppose,” Castiel tilted his head as he thought of the best way to phrase the situation and Dean did not look away because he looked like a very serious puppy… he did not. 

“I just thought it would be better doing something productive, although still not what we’re supposed to be doing,” he said with a resigned huff, clearly he didn’t agree with the change of plans. 

“Isn’t that technically breaking the rules, Mr.Prefect,” Dean asked with a teasing lilt in his tone. 

Castiel seemed more than happy to play along, and that helped ease Dean’s nerves, “Football is exercise enough, it’s got plenty running, and well, what’s the benefit of holding the badge if not for the occasional personal gain.”

Now that, Dean was  **not** expecting. Sure, he’s got a cookie-cutter image of Castiel Malak just as everyone in the school does, and maybe it’s not all that fair seeing as half of them haven’t even talked to him, Dean being in that half. But seeing the serious and imposing Castiel joke, if not outright flirt with Dean, although that bit may be wishful thinking, was a little disorienting. Enough to blank his mind of any thought, leaving him sitting there with a strained expression as he tried to grasp at straws in his head. 

“Anyhow, as I said, the team just needed a break. You would know how hard it is to handle the coach before a race… if you were to ever step on the field,” Castiel delivered the remark with a playful smirk and Dean couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculousness.

“Oh okay, should I be offended, oh captain my captain?” his face suddenly fell as he realised just how suggestive those words could be. He felt his face burn up and could only chuckle nervously and look away, pretending to fix his ice pack which couldn’t physically need much fixing because it was just an ice pack.

The sirens in his head subsided for seconds as he actually tried to absorb Castiel’s words, and when the bell struck in his head he jerked up harshly enough to surprise the boy sitting in front of him. 

“Wait, did you say race? What race?” 

“Um, the inter-school race. The one that we have… every year?” Castiel sounded the words slowly, confused and worried. He’d be more concerned if the boy didn’t look downright giddy at the moment. 

“Why? Is something wrong?” he couldn’t help but ask, so many things about the boy didn’t make sense but at least this seemed a manageable question to Castiel.

“Nope! Nothing’s wrong. In fact, it’s great, like really fucking great!” Dean was smiling widely enough to unnerve Castiel who muttered a slow, “What?”

“Nothing. I mean, not nothing just… Hey, can I ask you for a huge favour, please”, now Dean was pulling the puppy dog eyes look, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about those startled clear blue eyes. 


End file.
